


derpnouements

by Prankstyr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, postgame, wow sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prankstyr/pseuds/Prankstyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing but you and him and the stench of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	derpnouements

No matter what John would've liked to think, there was no epic soundtrack at the denouement of your story.  
  
There was no fanfare as you rode off victoriously into the sunset.  
  
There was only you, Dave Strider, and your lover, Karkat Vantas, quietly picking up the pieces and trying to continue pushing forward.  
  
"So you were flushed for him?" you ask Karkat. He nods. "And what happened?"  
  
He shrugs. "He went and fucking died on us, what did you think?"  
  
You chuckle morbidly. "And now you're flushed for little old me?"  
  
"I don't know what the fuck I am for you."  
  
"Metaphorically drink to that."  
  
"We have actual drinks. In the cabinet."  
  
You shrug. "That's far."  
  
"It's twenty fucking feet tops, lazy fucker."  
  
You gesture to your legs. Karkat sighs dramatically. "Fine, fine, be lazy."  
  
 _so there you were_  
  
 _it was just you and john and jade and karkat and rose against lord english in the end_  
  
 _and your vision went universally black and suddenly you were hanging from your wrists_  
  
 _rope_  
  
 _no weapons_  
  
 _no power_  
  
 _nothing but your eyes to watch as john's story ended in front of you all_  
  
No, no, it doesn't matter anymore, because that was the only time you let yourself cry _you couldn't cry Striders don't cry_  of course they do. You figured it out. You figured out the equation to murder the demon bastard and you figured it out 2 minutes too late. Sollux would have loved that.  
  
 _english took his glasses and then he took his eyes and then he took his tongue and then he took his life_  
  
 _and karkat screaming was the most poetic thing that had ever broken your heart_  
  
"Tragically beautiful," you mutter to yourself with a chuckle. You're 23 now, 23 years old, even though your bones feel 60 and your mind feels 100.  
  
You think you would be dead right now without Rose helping you through the aftermath. She's wonderful and perfect and she understands the creaking in your old bones and the rattling in your old mind.  
  
 _and suddenly it all clicked and you shifted once, twice, three hundred times and the demon was gone_  
  
 _the demon was gone but so was the life in john_  
  
You look over at Karkat. Gods, he's beautiful without an ounce of tragicitude. He's grown up and filled out, much like yourself, and he's…whole. Not broken like you. He looks up and sees you and smiles.  
  
So few people have been subject to the gift of Vantasshole's smile. He doesn't halfass it. His eyes scrunch up in the most adorable way and all of his fangy teeth show and it makes you want to flash step over and kiss him silly.  
  
What a pity that you can't.  
  
 _the timeline you were in was disintegrating around you_  
  
 _all you had to do to end it all was move to the door_  
  
 _five steps away_  
  
 _four steps away_  
  
 _three steps_  
  
 _two steps_  
  
 _one_  
  
 _pop goes the weasel goes the shrapnel digging into your spine as you go through the door, desperately reaching for the light on the other side -_  
  
And what you got was Karkat, asleep in the chair next to the bed you were in, with a shitty romance novel gently grasped in his hands as he snored uproariously.   
  
It had been two weeks.  
  
It has been 9 years.  
  
You like to think you've moved on, even though it might not seem like it on this day. April 13th.  
  
On this day you take out John's glasses and the mason jar with his preserved jaw and its stupid stupid buck teeth and have a few drinks with Karkat.  
  
Few? Lots. Many. All the drinks. All of them.  
  
Because today you allow yourself to remember. Today, you let the old wounds open up just enough to start bleeding in a wash of gorgeous, simpering metaphor.  
  
You swirl the whiskey in your cup and make a cute little whirlpool. "To John Egbert," you toast.  
  
Karkat clinks his glass with yours. "To John motherfucking Egbert."  
  
The sun sets in the distance.  
  
"To our derp."  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, I can be found at 2fab4lyffe.tumblr.com.


End file.
